When the virus began, the government acted quickly. Before the news could even begin to report on the events, blockades were already surrounding New York City. As people were beginning to evacuate, the barriers were set up. And as the people began to die, The entire city was blocked off from the outside world.

The Center for Disease Control were quick themselves, getting inside the city and setting up "evacuation zones". If people were not infected or exposed to the infection then they were given a helicopter lift to the outside. Sure, they would have to spend several weeks in isolation, but at least they were taken care of and at no risk of succumbing to one of those viral bodies. If one was exposed to the virus yet not succumbing to the effects, the CDC took them in at first, back when they had enough room. Now they are fortresses, the only sure places for supplies to be brought in. About a week after they were set up, they stopped taking new survivors. At least, permanent ones. All there rooms were filled almost beyond capacity. On really bad nights, survivors would be let in to stay in the lobby which, while not perfect, was still safer than almost anywhere outside of CDC or military control. In fact, through the several months that this disease was racking the city, only one outpost fell.

It was roughly a month into the infection, the CDC stronghold was formerly a hotel. Like all the others, a barrier was set up and people within were safe. At least, that's what they thought. What they didn't know was the superintendent of the building had survived, only to be affected by a mutated version of the virus. That this infected had the mental capacity to led several dozen less intellectually sound infected, to open the keys to the basement, and to unleash the horde into the building. Within an hour, the ground floor and the perimeter defenses were lost as survivors and soldiers alike desperately barricaded the first floor. Of course, they were not ready when the elevator opened and more of the virals flooded in. They managed to shut down the elevators and seal of another floor, but only after the first and second floors were lost. The last survivors sealed off the third and fourth floors. When several survivors tried to claim the roofs, the virals had climbed their way to the top and pushed. After that, all contact was lost and when the third rescue team was lost, it was declared a disaster zone and left to rot. There are whispers that survivors still live, yet other claim the noises are that of the zone having become a viral nest.

William sat in his room, golf club laid across his arms. Appearing out of place, he sat in a soiled blue collar shirt and similarly torn khakis. Oddly pristine socks tapped against the tacky carpet. Looking around, he took in the sights of the dimly lit. A small CRT tv sat atop a small table. On a bedside table sat a lit lamp, a revolver and loose shells, and a handheld taser which sat on a charger. Laying in front of the boarded up window where several duffel bags sat. Yet these bags were either mostly empty or they had the CDC logo on the side and filled with weaponry and armor. Off near the door to the hallway, a chemical smell came from the restroom.

Supplies were running low again. He was going to have to check another room. The third floor was still locked off, and unless the survivors in room 310 decided to be generous and trade, he would have to break into another room for food. Sighing, he stood up to make himself presentable.

The overwhelming stench of bleach invaded William's senses as he slipped the clear poncho over his form. Taking a moment to gag, he took a new medical mask from a package and slipped it on along with the poncho's hood over his shaved head. Sitting on the bed, he tied the plastic bags to his ankles after getting his shoes within them. Then came the plastic disposable gloves. Leaving the golf club on the impeccably made bed, William threw one of the empty duffel bags over one shoulder and took the taser off the charger. Unlocking his door, he took a deep breath before venturing into the mysterious, yet very well known environment.

Walking down the blood soaked hallway, William walked towards the end of the hall. Carefully stepping over a few bodies and doing everything not to touch the ripped, crimson splattered walls, he reached room 310. Knocking twice quickly, pausing, then twice more. William glanced around him, no signs of virals. Door's lock clicked and slowly opened. A woman in her mid thirties was holding a shotgun. "Will," she said, curt and without any warmth. "Kayla," replied the man, "I wanted to see if you guys had any extra supplies." Her facial features somehow became even more stone-like as she answered, "None for the likes of you." "Come on Kayla," he began, "I need only, like, three cans of whatever." "You want to be able to go lay on your bed." "Is that so wrong?" William countered, voice raising and causing him to look down the hall in fear. There was a moment of silence, silence so thick you could slice through it with a knife. Finally Kayla broke it first. "I assume you heard the shouts two nights ago?" she whispered. After seeing him just nod, she continued, "That was Greg. We sent out one of ours to check, and his door was broken down. He should still have some food." At that, Kayla quietly shut the door.

Sighing, William began walking down the hallway. He didn't want to make that trip, yet there was no other option. Greg was the last man from his old group that he knew was alive, emphasis on was. Continuing his walk, William made sure to quickly run past any open door with a black x above the door frame. Meant the room had no food. Most of them also had low growls that emitted from them.

Room 322. Door was broken down, resting on the floor in pieces within the room. Familiar noises of the tearing of flesh. Turning on his taser, William stepped within.

There were several bodies within the room, not all in one piece. Only, William has his eyes on the single viral in the room. The one eating Greg. Walking up quietly, he slipped his elbow under the viral, locking it into a chokehold. It tried screaming, but it's throat was shut. Before the hands could claw at the arm encasing it's throat, the taser was jammed into the spinal cord. Limbs out of control, it tried crying out for help again. Yet it's muscles spasmed, no longer obeying. Dropping the taser, William grabbed it with the now free hand and twisted. A loud snap, and the creature fell limp.

Laying it down, William got a look at the viral. It used to be a female, short red hair. She wore a torn up outfit and had a handgun clipped to her belt. Odd, seems like a newly turned. Pupils weren't collapsed, flesh wasn't pale, stomach wasn't bloated. Not important at the moment.

Looking over to Greg, William took small comfort in knowing that at least he wouldn't come back. Kneeling down, he got a closer look. All exposed flesh was dug into. Muscle was torn asunder. While it was hard to truly be able to tell, it looked like there was an exit wound in his skull, so at least he probably took his own life. Still, here he was. And now William was alone.

Walking over to the cupboard, William dug through the contents. A few cans of beans and chili along with half a bag of chips. Nothing to write home about, but it would keep him fed for another few days. Loading up his duffel bag, he prepared to walk when he heard a familiar growl. Several of them in fact.

Firing up his taser, William ran out of the room and down the hallway. Behind him, their screams echoed. Could be as little as two, could be as many as half a dozen. Didn't matter, he was outnumbered. And he had but a small close combat weapon. Sprinting faster, he reached his door. Throwing it open, he turned inside.

He attempted to slam the door shut as several fingers from different hands gripped the door. Even an arm, covered in ballistic armor, managed to snake its way in. Leaning back for a moment, William threw his weight into the door. A few small crunches. Again, trying with more force. More crunches, and the screams were louder. Jamming the taser into the arm, it began to spasm as the screams grew louder and louder. Grabbing a hold on the wrist, William dropped the tase and used his other hand to begin striking the arm as hard as he could. Not that it was easy, given several of the infected were also trying to get in. With each strike, the infected in the armor screamed louder and louder. With a sickening snap, blood shot out of the arm as it went limp and was pulled away. One last heave, he threw his body into the door, severing several fingers as the door locked into place. Setting up the locks and boards, William tried his best to ignore the almost human calls for his flesh. Dropping his bag, he stepped into the bleach filled bathroom.

Walking out in a towel, William left all his clothes either hanging to steam dry, or, in the case of the poncho, sitting in the bleach filled sink. The disposable gloves, mask, and shoe coverings were thrown into a trash bag that sat in the corner. Sitting down on his bed, he proceeded to slowly lay back on the bed. Outside, the screams were still there. William would have to deal with them. However, that was for a later time. For now, he was tired and needed some sleep.

And so he entered that dark realm, ignoring the very human screams from somewhere down the hallway that mixed too well with the screams right at his door.